"
"The worse luck," he said, "that one should be necessary."
"This is the one hour of the day," she remarked, sinking into a
large easy-chair, "which I devote to repose. How shall I preserve
my fleeting youth if you break in upon it in this ruthless manner?"
"If I could only truthfully say that I was sorry," he answered,
"but I can't. I am here--and I would rather be here than anywhere
else in the world."
She looked at him with curving lips; and even he, who had watched
her often, could not tell whether that curve was of scorn or mirth.
"They told me," she said impressively, "that you were different--a
woman-hater, honest, gruff, a little cynical. Yet those are the
speeches of your salad days. What a disenchantment!"
"The things which one invents when one is young," he said, "come
perhaps fresh from the heart in later life. The words may sound
the same, but there is a difference."
"Come," she said, "you are improving. That at any rate is ingenious.
Suppose you tell me now what has brought you here before four
o'clock, when I am not fit to be seen?"
He smiled. She shrugged her shoulders.
"I mean it. I haven't either my clothes or my manners on yet.
Come, explain."
"I met a man who interested me," he answered. "He comes from
America, from Lenox!"
He saw her whiten.
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